Drabble 1

Saburo was well aware of the problem by now. His nightmares were all too clear on the matter, and he was surprised that it was still possible for him to be awake. Not that consciousness had been gaining him anything in particular lately, other than the free thought to reach a cold conclusion about why he could still wake up.

His throat seized  shut any time he tried to speak of it, until he abandoned the attempted, and then he was once again granted the privilege of breathing, or rather, of gasping to refill his lungs and lie shivering weakly afterward.

It was somewhat troublesome. He had to admit that he didn't like the fact that breathing was something he had to be allowed to continue now.

Anyway, if he was going to consider what he had to do, then it was more important for him to inform Kururu and Pirarah of the situation. If he couldn't speak, then he would have to find some signal that would impress upon them the importance of the situation, so they could remove themselves from it before anything genuinely unfortunate happened. His intention was still to deal with this on his own; he did not wish to force anyone else to accept this kind of risk unnecessarily.

It seemed like he would have to show them what was wrong with him. He didn't just feel wrong at the moment, he was wrong, though if feeling was to be analyzed, he would say that he was half-filled with spiderwebs. The spiders crawled all over their webs and the inside of his skin, stirring sickness and a feverish shivering. Still, he sat up, ignoring the liquid sloshing of his dizzy brain, and tipped himself over the side of the bed. The floor swung up under his feet, nearly throwing him. He tottered, taking a cautious moment to breath and steady himself to make what was at least a slightly less tumultuous step.

“Tch... Saburo, care to tell me what you're doing?' Kururu shifted in the chair he had chosen as his perch in the room, hopping down. “I thought we agreed that you weren't going anywhere.”

Pirarah nodded in hesitant affirmation, moving silently to block the door. Saburo gave them both a dull, pale look that sharply contrasted his usual strength. He should have not been moving on any account, if he had at that time relaxed at all, he would have collapsed. This exertion would probably not benefit him later, but he would handle that when later it came. He spoke in a voice that refused to be anything more than a harsh whisper, “Move, please...”

“S-Saburo, just lie down... You need to get better...” But he moved aside as Saburo grabbed for the doorknob, watching him nervously. He helped his shaking form down the hallway by leaning against the wall, with an obviously displeased Kururu pursuing him, though he was greatly more worried than his irritated expression suggested. The yellow Keronian could simply have been bothered by having to move, if it hadn't been obvious that there was a different reason for his consternation.

His Pekoponian companion continued regardless of blurring vision and creeping nausea and how the inside of his skull was flushed with white heat that threatened to singe away all thought, reaching the kitten after a dangerously long amount of time. He turned to face the other two, trying to smile serenely but mostly giving his mouth a pained tilt. “Since it seems... that I'm...” He stopped for breath. “...I'm able to do this... I'll let you see...” Their faces demonstrated two different variations on themes of confusion and harsh nervousness, neither unwarranted.

Saburo wrenched open a kitchen draw choppily, and removed a knife, running the blade across his upper arm before he had time to question it. The wound shed not a drop of blood, but it did leak stick shadows that hovered around close to him. He winced, uttering a soft, sharp sigh of belated protest against his own actions, and slid onto his knees. His eyes had lost any trace of focus, but he persisted briefly in barely audible words that were plainly directed at the Keronians, “That's... all. Just a little thing... I'll... handle my demon on my own...” He managed to force something that at least bore a more solid resemblance to a smile. “Ah...”

He fell forward onto the kitchen tiles, spent of energy.